


Velvet, Leather and Wool

by Angryangryowl



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Boot Worship, Drunk Sex, Happy Ending, Inappropriate Use of the Force, Lingerie, M/M, Morally Ambiguous Character, Murder, Political murder, Rough Oral Sex, Senator Ben Amidala - Freeform, senator au, some blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 21:02:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6626185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Angryangryowl/pseuds/Angryangryowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Senator Ben Amidala gets to know General Hux of the First Order after committing a brutal murder to save his life, showing him the intricacies of senate politics, mostly how to hold your drink and compliment the right people. Of course, sleeping with the right delegates helps.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Velvet, Leather and Wool

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verybadhedgehog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verybadhedgehog/gifts).



> From the prompt: 'Anything with slutty diplomat Ben Amidala also being dangerous and kicking ass/doing some light utility stabbing'. Also added in boot kink (because it was requested and looked like great fun to write), inappropriate use of the force (also requested, and my own personal poison), and Hux in lingerie (also requested, necessary). And for pure personal indulgence, Hux thoroughly messing up Ben's hair and make-up. I really hope you enjoy it <3

The first time Senator Ben Amidala sees General Hux outside of the Senate Chamber is very nearly the last. He idly wonders if this starched young man is aware of just how dangerous the senate corridors can be for a man as hated as him. The shorter, dark-haired officer who accompanies him, Mitaka, Ben thinks, doesn’t look like he’s about to die in Hux’s defence. He looks like he’d be too frightened of getting his uniform dirty.

They don’t notice Ben hiding close by. Biding his time and wondering if the intelligence he so carefully drew from a Corellian delegate with his lips and tongue was worth anything at all. He gently extracts a slim, sharp knife with an ornate handle from his boot-top, willing his heavy skirts to stay silent in the process. His heavy brocade gown, grey with a flocked black design, wide sleeves, and a tasselled trim is perhaps not the best garment for combat, not to mention the intricate gold rope which holds his hair in place, but there’s no time to leave 

He amuses himself watching Mitaka trying to keep up with the General’s long legs and determined strides, unable to walk fast enough but not quite wanting to break into a jog. The stark minimalism of their uniforms, fine black wool and bantha hide pressed and polished into sharp lines, makes them stand out among the ornate confections many of the delegates wear. They’re designed to be intimidating, as the Empire uniforms were. No need for ornament or sentiment, because the heart beating beneath that fine cloth is cold, hard, and belongs only to the First Order.

Muffled footsteps growing louder, too close to be Hux and Mitaka, close enough that the mind accompanying those footsteps is like a frenzied whisper in Ben’s ear. A clean shot, get those credits, lay low for a while. A young man, non-descript black jumpsuit and boots hurries past, muttering and pulling a blaster from nowhere. The Corellian really was as good as his word. Ben’s skirts rustle a little too loudly as he steps into the corridor. The assassin is still waiting for a good shot, but the curve of the corridor means he doesn’t have long enough to get a good shot before they turn the bend of the corridor, out of sight. He steps into the middle of the corridor, needing a clean headshot, right onto Ben’s booted right foot.

Ben’s long fingers are over his mouth and nose before he can yell, the heavy silver rings of office biting into his lower lip as Ben shoves his chin down into his chest, forcing the blade into the soft spot between ear and chin and slicing firmly down through his carotid artery with a wet, guttural sound. ‘Sorry, but I’ll be needing the General a little longer,’ he says in a pleasant voice, allowing the unfortunate assassin to slump to his knees with a gurgling moan. Hux turns at the sound, reaching for the small blaster concealed in the folds of his trousers.

‘Little late, General.’ Ren smiles, stepping delicately over the twitching man. Hux glares at the approaching senator. Ben is tall, several inches taller than Hux in his heeled boots, which click ominously on the durasteel as he stalks towards them.

‘I had the situation in hand – Mitaka and I are both armed, we could have--‘ Hux speaks with a note of disdain in his voice. Whatever his home world accent used to be, it’s been flattened in favour of clipped vowels and careful pronunciation.

‘Had I not intervened, General,’ Ben interrupts in his smoothest senate chamber voice, ‘there would be very little of that pretty face left. You could at least thank me.’

Both draw themselves to their full height in front of Ben, although Hux has definitely mastered the art of keeping his face glacially impassive. His features are noble, delicate. Handsome, in his uniform. High arched cheekbones, a straight nose, and green eyes like the sea glass his father used to bring him set in a pale, freckle-flecked face. Full lips often set in a hard line like he’s trying to stop any untoward words escaping, but look rather inviting when relaxed. Flaming red hair in a sharp side part - Ben’s mind idly wonders what it might look like mussed by careless fingers. 

Hux gives very little ground in the Senate Chamber, and while Ben is aware that he badly needs at least a shaky alliance with the Republic, he continues to look as though he could not care less. Mitaka looks furious on his behalf.

‘I appreciate your assistance, Senator, but if you’re hoping for any favours in return, I may disappoint you.’

‘But isn’t that what the Senate is, General? Little favours? I’ll scratch yours if you scratch mine? I have every interest in keeping you alive and well. The Republic and the Order have a lot to offer each other. If you doubt my dedication to that cause, I’d point you to your friend down there.’

It isn’t really a smile, but a look of quiet respect crosses Hux’s face. As well it might, with Ben smiling down at him, spattered with bright arterial blood, his knife trailing drops of gore onto the marble tile.

‘Anyway, all this unpleasantness aside, I’ll see you at the little gathering for the new delegates tonight. I may need to explain just how our friend here ran into my knife.’ Ben departs with a sly wink, turning back the way he came.

Hux bows, more of a nod really, and Mitaka adds his own shallow bow and look of distaste as they turn back towards their own quarters.

***

One part of Senate politics that Hux has been less keen to take part in are the social gatherings. People trying to out-dress and impress each other, saying a lot of things that they clearly do not mean. Oh, he understands the value of propaganda, and praise where praise is due to his staff. But flattery for the sake of some oily delegate’s favour, when he is likely being bribed by six different people anyway…

Ben Amidala sweeps up behind him, two long glasses of something sparkling in his hands. He has retouched his heavy make-up since their earlier encounter, the thick swipe of blood gone from his neck and chin, repainted marble pale and powdery. Hux is vaguely aware of some symbolism behind the full painted top lip and split bottom lip and the deep red dots on both cheekbones. The dark lines and thick fan of lashes around the eyes make them seem bigger, and bring out the soft hazel of the irises. 

A more fitted black gown, this time, with an intricate pattern of silver foliage around the high collar, and a fur trim to the yoke, belted around his slim waist with a sash and further silver foliage. Surprisingly elegant, given his broad and muscular frame. A change from the monochrome wool and leather, chrome and plastic of the First Order

‘Good evening, General, so good of you to come.’

Hux takes the glass with a nod as Ben murmurs close to his ear. ‘Allow me to show you a few of the delegates you’ll want to compliment wherever possible in the next few days.’ Hux isn’t sure what perfume he’s wearing, but it’s immediately apparent. It’s heady, not floral but... verdant, if he were pressed to put a word to it.

A hand rests softly between Hux’s shoulder blades, an index finger tracing the back seam of his uniform tunic as Ben lists a few in his ear. His hand is immensely distracting, but he remembers enough. The Twi’lek whose eyes he must remember to compare to the moons of her home world. A Zabrak commander whose prowess in battle had (supposedly) reached the ears of the First Order. The second seems less of an implausible compliment, Hux could conceivably admire someone else’s skill in combat before the beauty of their eyes.

He is introduced to a few people who came their way, shakes hands, bows, and barely notices glass after glass of sparkling wine being placed in his hand by Ben. The hand between his shoulderblades as they speak has strayed to the small of his back, a manicured thumb tracing small circles on the back of his uniform. Still distracting. As is the deep voice murmuring senate secrets and scandal in his ear. The perfume which dizzies him but somehow invites him closer for a little more. Of course he’s not about to bury his face in the hollow of that pale throat. But the thought of it is not entirely unpleasant. 

Excusing himself after far too many glasses of wine, he walks slowly back from the bathroom, meandering down the corridor and contemplating the idea that this creature, this endless expanse of long legs and dark velvet, is getting a little too close. But when he’s back in the room, nodding to delegates and laughing at whatever everyone else is laughing at like it’s the funniest damn thing he ever heard and working his way to a corner by a wide marble column, Ben appears at his elbow like he’s never been away, a glass of deep amber liquid in his hands.

Hux is ready to turn it down, but Ben’s lips are at his ear. ‘Corellian reserve. An officer’s drink, I’m told. Be a shame to waste it.’ The s and t sounds are oddly beautiful, Hux ruminates. The perfect soft click of an educated tongue against perfect teeth and plump lips. He is almost certainly being played for a fool. But he can tell himself every excuse he needs to hear now. It’s in the name of diplomacy, really he’s doing this for the good of the Order. It would be exceptionally rude and only cement his reputation as unapproachable and uncooperative if he were to leave now, and if this alliance fails, he really may as well throw himself out of the airlock and save Supreme Leader Snoke the effort.

Ben’s hand has now slipped from it’s spot at the small of his back to resting on his backside. Hux’s knees are also fairly unwilling to support his own weight, both the muscular arm around his shoulders, and the chest that his cheek rests on seem to be helping. This isn’t the first diplomatic ‘friendship’ to be sealed this way. 

He hasn’t really been listening to Ben talk, and hasn’t noticed that he’s no longer talking about politics. He just catches the end of ‘..and perhaps returning to your quarters, General.’ purred against to top of his head, the sentence completed with a press of Ben’s lips on his hair. The hand not around Hux’s back clenches into a loose fist at Ben’s side. Hux thinks nothing of it at first. He suspects the sensations that follow might be related. Ben soothes and mumbles against his cheekbone, continuing the illusion that they are sharing some profound truths about Senate policy.

Hux is somewhat distracted by the ghostly brush of unseen fingers over his chest, fingertips over the soft and sensitive spots of his belly, pausing somewhere on the bare skin beneath his belt buckle, the warmth of a large hand spread there, claiming him and promising far more. The feeling of a palm, not over the thick wool of his trousers but directly on the soft skin at the back of his thighs, sending a prickle of arousal up his spine, a coil of want tightening in his gut.

Slipping over his the backs of his knees and rubbing down, he can feel the warm pressure of unseen palms over the polished leather of his boot tops, stroking over the intricate fastenings and loosely gripping his ankle. By the time he feels the press of these strange, invisible hands against his instep, a thumb rolling lazily but firmly over the ridge of muscle between his big toe and his ankle, he’s achingly hard and his breathing huffs against Ben’s neck, suppressing a moan.

 

‘Oh, yes....’ His tired, tipsy brain ponders the idea of shrugging his heavy dress uniform onto the bed. The cool night air, real hands and those elegantly painted lips on his overheated skin.  
‘Very pleasant indeed,’ Ben murmurs. ‘Leave those boots on though. They look a little dusty.’

Hux isn’t sure what his boots being dusty have to do with anything, but if it leads to more sensations like that, his traitorous body will follow this man into a dying star if it has to. Ben bids their good-nights for him, leaving Hux to only nod and smile and adjust the front of his tunic discreetly. Many of the guests are more drunk that Hux is, draped in chairs, exchanging giggles and kisses in corners or starting uproarious renditions of Republic anthems. Ben is leading him, arm in arm, but managing to make it look as though Hux is escorting him. 

Reaching the elevator, the doors just slide closed as Ben shoves Hux roughly against the wall, his long fingers cupping his jaw as he kisses him. It’s sharp with wine, rounded with perfume and powder, and something sweet. Ben’s hands are twisting in his belt, his wide hands around his narrow waist, keeping him close, as a muscular thigh slips between his. He moans against Ben’s smiling lips as he pulls away with a soft laugh, leading Hux by the hand down the corridor to his quarters.

They are far too overwrought, of course. The Senate likes its comforts, and if they can make their guests both comfortable and vaguely awed by the comforts they offer, so be it. Two ornate armchairs face each other around a large fireplace, burning low, in front of a large double bed, strewn with pillows and Hux’s hat, gloves and greatcoat. Hux finds himself flopping gracelessly into one of these armchairs as Ben click the door shut. 

Still stalking elegantly over the marble floor in his towering heels, Hux can’t even recall how much Ben had drunk that night. He knelt in front of Hux, taking one booted foot in both of his hands, cupping the heel in his palm and rubbing a thumb over the ridge of Hux’s ankle joint to begin. It feels strangely tender and intimate with his occasional glances up at Hux through his thick lashes.

He continues with reverent hands, running the fingers over the seams and zip, taking time to admire materials - bantha hide, but butter soft and undoubtedly expensive. Hux thinks he could press his foot into Ben’s chest easily, kick him backwards and pin him to the cold floor underfoot. But why would he do that to a man already on his knees?

‘What are you doing?’

‘A good host should ensure all of their guests needs are met. Submitting to them and recognising a higher authority is particularly important, especially in a diplomatic role.’

He sounded like he is reciting from a text, but he still speaks in that soft, deep voice, a spark of mischief in his eyes, pressing his crimson lips to the toe of Hux’s boot. 

‘I’m going to lick your boots clean, General. If you’ll let me.’

Hux opens his mouth to plead, please, right now, don’t stop. But as inebriated as he is, he can still appreciate supplication. ‘I suppose I’ll allow it.’

Ben looks up, somehow innocent for a moment (he’s good, Hux will give him that) under all that paint and glitter, wide eyes and open mouth, the flat of a wide tongue swiping across the toe. His eyes flutter closed with the next lick, gently laving his tongue across the soft folds at the front of the ankle. Gentle fingers parting Hux’s thighs a little further, a thumb brushing a soft spot just above his knee as Ben dips his head to the zipper of his right boot, tugging at it with his teeth.

 

Too presumptuous, Hux decides, catching Ben’s chin with his toe, tilting his face up to catch his eye, an eyebrow raised. ‘I’m curious. If you’d worship them, why take them off?’

‘Sorry, Sir.’ A hint of a smirk still plays at the corner of Ben’s mouth as he nudges closer, now entirely between Hux’s thighs. He presses another kiss to the First Order insignia on Hux’s belt buckle before unfastening it and sliding it from around his waist. He unbuttons Hux’s tunic from the bottom, eventually reaching up to the collar and slipping the clasp loose. His fingers are pleasantly cool against this skin of Hux’s throat and he moans softly at Ben’s index and middle fingers brushing through the short hair at the back of his neck. He tugs the collar of his undershirt down just a little, a soft lick, a slip of pink tongue at the dip of his collarbone as he returns to his knees.

Undoing his trousers, Ben glances up for a second. Hux’s cock is thick, very hard and contained only by a scrap of satin and some black floral lace. Hux only raises an eyebrow in response. He feels particularly imperious in the ornately carved chair, with Ben between his knees, his beautiful gown trailing on the floor, and his exquisitely styled hair coming loose from the golden ropes and braids holding it in place. Who dares question him? Ben sucks at the damp spot of satin at the tip, his fingers caressing lower over the silky fabric covering his balls, squeezing just enough to draw ‘nnghh - ah!’ from Hux’s lips as he arches his back for more

Ben pulls the intricate lace of the waistband aside, the barest press of his lips turning into maddeningly slow licks over the slit, tasting precome as his fingers curl around the shaft. He sucks the head, slipping it between his painted lips as Hux shifts his hips forward, his hands resting on the arms of the chair. 

He slides his lips down further, not hurried at all, pulling another moan from Hux as he curls his tongue around the underside of his cock, slipping down a little more before pulling almost completely away, and down again. Settling himself on his knees as he builds a steady rhythm, Hux’s fingers tangling in his hair, loosening the braids further as he pulls him closer, tugging his hair again in response to Ben’s hum of pleasure around him. 

The brown eyes watching him still have a glint of mischief, a dare and a promise as he pulls away just long enough to gasp, ‘More.’ 

He sees stars the first time he nudges the back of Ben’s throat. Both hands tangle in the mess of black and gold that is Ben’s hair, gripping and forcing his head down so that Hux can fuck that blood red mouth. Rolling his hips a little faster at the choked moans, and the sight of Ben’s hand desperately palming the front of his gown. Faster, even though he won’t last he truly does not care, saliva and precome dripping down Ben’s chin. 

‘Ben, ngh, I…Ben!’ is all he can say, coming hard in his mouth, Ben’s tongue working every pulse and twitch of his climax from him. Hux’s knuckles are white amongst his dark curls. 

Ben straightens his back, looking up at Hux. Beautifully debauched, lipstick, powder and come smeared, glistening, across his chin and swollen lips. The carefully applied red dots on his cheeks streak across his cheekbones.

‘I think I like you like that,’ Hux murmurs, stroking a finger over one cheek and smiling sleepily.

Ben stands, extending a hand and helping Hux to his feet. He stumbles a little, overbalancing, but Ben’s arms are around him, holding him steady. Ben kisses the corner of his mouth softly, as though he’s unsure if he’s still welcome. Hux brushes his lips back across Ben’s just as he begins to move away. Hux’s hands, previously braced against Ben’s chest, relax. Hix whole body relaxes into a gentle kiss that doesn’t feel like a political move. Even Ben undressing him, and his own fingers working out the ornate fastenings of Ben’s gown and sash, feels a little different. It must be the wine, Hux reasons.

And when they are both naked, hair loose, Ben’s make-up rinsed off, it’s surely because Ben wants something else, right? Something other than curling into each other’s warm bodies beneath the blankets, sharing a few more drowsy kisses before dozing off still tangled together. Except he is still there in the morning, stroking his hair from his eyes, making his truly miserable hangover a little less unpleasant.

Hux can surely explain that. Can’t he?


End file.
